


Still Into You

by delicious-irony (deliciousirony)



Series: SPN Writing Prompt Challenge [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Supernatural Writing Challenge, Supernatural Writing Challenge May 2016, but wibbly-wobbly-timey-whimey amiright, happy ending either way, upon posting i realised the time line is wonky, when is it hurt and when is it angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicious-irony
Summary: Castiel finds a very drunk Dean on the roof-terrace of their student residence. When the song "I'm Still Into You" comes on on the radio, drunk Dean becomes a very emotional drunk Dean, and Castiel hears something he never thought he would.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the May 2016 round of the **[SPN Writing Challenge](http://spnwritingchallenge.tumblr.com)**. The theme was 'songs and the prompt was ' _I'm Still Into You_ '.
> 
> Come say hello to me on Tumblr at **delicious-irony.tumblr.com**! I tag all my writing with #delicious-irony writes.
> 
>  
> 
> _This hasn’t been beta’ed yet, but a very kind soul has agreed to do so, so hopefully I’ll get around to polishing this in the near future._  
> 

  


Dean remembered a time when he wasn’t in love with Cas. Two years ago Cas had been his weird new roomie, and Dean had been in the closet without knowing it. Two years ago, between brushing his teeth in front of his computer and asking whether Dean knew of any particularly good recipes for honey-cake, Cas had asked Dean on a date. The question had been surprisingly intelligible despite the continued brushing of teeth, and it had come in the middle of a recipe, preceded by Cas’ enquiry about other recipes and seamlessly followed by his suspicion that the recipe currently in front of him had got the amount of honey horrendously wrong. Two years ago Dean had just laughed, saying he neither knew of a recipe nor did he swing this way. Cas had just nodded sagely, had affirmed that that had been what he had figured, and in doing so, had splattered toothpasty spit all over his shirt. He had continued brushing his teeth and looking up recipes, and Dean had finally understood why so many of Cas’ t-shirts had bleached spots on them. The explanation had turned out to be much less sexy than what Dean had originally assumed.  


That had been two years ago. In those two years Dean had discovered three things. 

One, Cas ran his own trademark of weird, but he was also the coolest and sweetest and cutest and in general awesomest roomie ever. 

Two, Dean was bisexual. That had been the discovery of a party at the end of his first year when he had ended up drunk and, quite literally, in Aaron’s hands. Not that anything had come from it, but once Dean gotten off embarrassingly fast upon returning the favour an impressively short time later, he had, again quite literally, found himself in a position that made denying his bisexuality rather difficult. It also did a wonderful job of explaining the random boners Dean had been experiencing since moving in with Cas.

And three, Dean was hopelessly gone on his roommate whom he had shot down two years ago and who was now his best friend and apparently going steady with the presumptuously named Balthazar. Pining, Dean had discovered, was in practice a much more grating and much less gratifying romantic activity than all the romance novels he had never read had made it out to be.

After that first random, pie-flanked question, Cas had never shown any interest in dating Dean again. Weighing every word and gesture, Dean had come to the conclusion that the initial question had been a joke, or that Cas had moved on, see Balthazar, or, the most likely scenario, that he had simply come to the conclusion that dating Dean was not in his best interest anyway. Dean knew he wasn't perfect, but he thought he was a decent person, and while probably not the sharpest pixie in the forest, his marks were good enough to have got him into university on a pretty good scholarship. However, Dean also knew that he could have handled Cas’ original question better, and given how he had reacted, Cas was probably right in thinking that Dean was an asshole. But they were friends, and Dean did think that Cas liked him as a friend, so maybe, according to Dean’s extensive, fictional experience in love stories, where he definitely hadn’t cast Cas and himself as main characters, Cas was simply reluctant to risk their friendship. And when Dean’s mind ended up running in circles, this was the solution he usually told himself absolutely had to be the right one: he could talk himself into believing, at least for a little while, that Cas loved him too and that they just had decided not to jeopardise their friendship by engaging in a much riskier romantic relationship. If nothing else, Dean could dream.

Also, Dean could drink. And on that particular day, as he was sitting on the small roof-terrace - a word much grander than its owner - of their student residence, contemplating the last couple of weeks before the end of his third year at uni, the completion of his bachelor in engineering so close before him, and the end of his residence in that room he had shared with Cas for almost two years now, Dean decided that today was a day to drink. To drink to all that could have been, to all that he had never lost because he had never actually had it, to all that he hadn't known he would one day mourn the day he had thrown a door closed that hadn't even really started to open yet. And so Dean drank. He watched the late evening sky turn dark, the few stars he could see standing still over the moving lights of the planes that were taking off and landing at the airport in the distance. The tops of the trees were like dark shadowy clouds beneath him, and the only real light came from the strings of Christmas lights wound around the make-shift railing. At some point he had switched on the small radio tucked away in one of the nooks and crannies of the make-shift terrace. He had no idea what station it was, the music was pretty random. The tuning wheel of the radio was broken and he couldn't have changed the station anyway, even if he had wanted to. Poetic, Dean thought, just like the thing… not-thing with Cas. Dean snorted and took another swallow of whiskey.

Hours later, the bottle was running on empty and Dean was thinking about whether he should go downstairs and replenish his supply of alcohol, when the door was carefully pushed open from the inside. A head full of randomly tousled dark hair appeared, closely followed by a face that Dean knew to be the home of the two bluest eyes he had ever seen in his life. In his inebriated state Dean thought that this right there was one of the most poetic lines he had ever come up with. 

“Dean?” a low voice asked. “Are you alright?”

Dean felt his head swivel towards the voice. That voice always made him look for its owner.

\---:::---:::---:::---

Cas took in the scene before him. The radio was flooding the small space before him with scratchy music, the Christmas lights casting their usual, dusty glow, and Dean was sitting in the middle of it all, glaring at a bottle as if its emptiness was an intentional affront against him. When he heard Cas, Dean quickly, and not quite as stealthily as he had probably hoped, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Heya, Cas,” he slurred. “Watcha doin’ up here? Shouldna be with Bal-... Balz… that friend-robbing, slimy Brit?”

“Balthazar?” Cas asked, surprised and confused. “Who has he stolen? What?”

“You! You, Cas! He stole you!”

Cas gave Dean a dubious look. Balthazar and he had been friends at high-school, and while they had tried the whole boyfriends thing once in their final year there, it had not worked out for either of them. They had stayed friends, with the occasional benefits. Those late-night calls had become fewer and fewer over the years though, and, especially since Cas had moved in with Dean, they had slowly but surely completely stopped. Now they just binge-watched British TV-series like Downton Abby together and had ridiculous pyjama-parties Cas would never ever tell anyone about, especially not Dean. He would never stop teasing him.

But right now his roommate and best friend was seven sheets to the wind. Cas sighed. He hadn’t seen Dean like this since that party on the day after Lisa had left him, roughly a year ago. He wondered why Dean was drinking now. Cas hadn’t been aware that Dean had been seeing someone. The idea… hurt. But Dean didn’t think of him that way, so nothing more to think about, was there. When Cas had heard that Dean had discovered his bisexuality on that party, Cas hadn’t known whether to laugh or to cry - being bi didn’t mean that he had changed his views on Castiel. And Dean really had never made a move. That was the answer to Cas’ unspoken question right there. 

Cas sighed again, deeper than before. Nothing for it, he’d have to take Dean down to their room and see that Dean drank some water. Dean kept babbling about Balthazar taking Cas away from Dean and when the next song started on the radio, Dean started making weird hiccupping sounds - whether he was laughing or crying, Cas couldn’t tell.

“Dean?” he asked again. “What’s wrong now?” 

“The song,” Dean sniffled. 

Cas took a second to listen consciously. Surprisingly enough, he actually knew the title. Cas was confused. 

“I’m still into you?” he asked. 

Dean started bawling for real. How the hell was that song relevant to Dean’s current mood swing?

“‘sactly! But ya not, that’s jus’ it! And it’s all my fault, all my fault… But I didn know then…! If I had, I woulda… and now ya with him” Dean looked up at him through blurry eyes. “Ima so sorry, Cas, so so-ho-ho-ho-ry…”

And there Dean went, fully crying now. Hugging him. What the hell was going on?!

“Dean? What has “I’m still into you” got to do with this?”

“‘Cause I’m into you, but you’re not into me anymore, and it’s my fault,” Dean sobbed into his neck. “You’re with him now and when we graduate you’ll move in together and move away and get a job somewhere else and I’ll never see you again.”

Dean sounded surprisingly coherent, but Cas had no illusions that he was completely and utterly wasted. For some odd reason Dean always sounded creepily sober right before he’d crash completely. While this usually weirded Cas out, right now, he didn’t even notice. 

Dean liked him?

Dean liked him.

Cas couldn’t help staring at the heaving back in front of him, couldn’t help listening to his best friend sobbing brokenly, hugging him tight. 

Dean liked him. He thought that Cas didn’t like him. Suddenly the half-broken Christmas lights around Cas seemed to glow and blink much brighter than his eyes could manage; Cas noticed only then that tears had started running down his face as well. With a deep breath and a heart that felt as if it was close to exploding, he held Dean even more tightly. He’d have to try and get him downstairs before he’d pass out completely. 

“But Dean, I still do, I am, as you say, ‘still into you’, you stupid, wonderful idiot,” he whispered. Cas didn’t think Dean had heard him; he was growing suspiciously heavy in his arms. He’d tell him again tomorrow, when he woke up. Cas doubted he would remember it anyway, if he told him again right now. With a smile growing on his face, bigger and bigger until all his gums were showing, until he couldn’t even stop the short bursts of giggling laughter from breaking free anymore, he carefully maneuvered Dean down the stairs and into the lift.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow and every day for as long as you’ll have me,” he whispered into Dean’s hair before he pressed a soft, smiley-faced kiss onto the same spot. 

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a small art blog, delicirony.tumblr.com \- my art tag is #delicirony. If you’d like to have a look, you can find [my artsy stuff on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicirony) too.


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